Under Wraps

“I’ll say,” I said, scanning the room.

 

“But anyway”—Lorraine leaned in, lowering her voice—“then word got out that Sampson has gone missing and that he did so right about the time that the murders in San Francisco went supernatural. After being a bit incensed by Vlad and the Movement, well, I guess our clients and staff started to think that if the head of the UDA doesn’t have to keep order, why should they? I mean, the rule is you go rogue and the Underground sets you straight. But if the leader of the Underground has gone rogue …”

 

Nina’s coal-black eyes were wide. “Whoa.”

 

“And the demons started to get anxious.”

 

Nina and I nodded.

 

“And then we were so short-staffed …”

 

I swallowed guiltily.

 

“It was like a powder keg, and Mr. Sampson going rogue, well …” Lorraine smiled weakly. “I guess that was just the spark that they needed.”

 

“What happened to Vlad? Where is he now?” Nina asked.

 

Lorraine shrugged, gesturing to the half-crushed desk from which she had climbed out. “You’ll understand when I say that keeping an eye on your rabble-rouser nephew wasn’t high on my priority list while demonkind was tearing apart our offices, screaming about Sampson going rogue.”

 

I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. Was I the only one who had any faith in Mr. Sampson at all?

 

“So everyone in the Underworld thinks Sampson is responsible for the murders, too?” I could hear the hysteria rising in my voice, yet again.

 

Nina took both my hands and led me to the remains of a waiting room chair. She sat beside me, her brow knitted.

 

“Sophie, I know how much you care for Mr. Sampson.”

 

I looked at my knees. “He’s been the best boss I’ve ever known. The only boss.”

 

“Look, I know better than anyone that people—even people we love—aren’t always what we think they are. Sometimes the demon in us takes over. Sometimes it’s just too hard—or too exhausting—to control anymore. Maybe Mr. Sampson had had enough.”

 

I shook Nina’s hands from mine and stood up. “No. No, I don’t buy that. Just suddenly, after all this time? And why the eyeballs? The blood, huh? Why the heart? Has Mr. Sampson not only become a crazed killer but some kind of disgusting part collector, too?”

 

Lorraine cleared her throat; up until that moment, I had forgotten she was there. “Add demon skin, crossbred blood, and the Sword of Bethesda and he’s not collecting, he’s creating.”

 

Both Nina and I swung our heads to gawk at Lorraine as she casually stroked Costineau.

 

“Creating?” Nina asked, disgusted.

 

My stomach rolled. “Like Frankenstein? Body parts? He’s making a monster?”

 

Lorraine wagged her head. “No. Well, not exactly. He’s not making a demon—he’s creating a pathway.”

 

“That’s what the Sword of Brunhilda is for? Creating a pathway?”

 

“Sword of Bethesda,” Lorraine corrected. “It’s a special, jeweled sword. Forged specifically for the purpose of opening portals, charmed by Irish Meers, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.”

 

Nina crossed her arms in front of her chest. “So this stuff—the eyeballs and sword and stuff—it does what, exactly?”

 

Lorraine shrugged, nuzzled the cat. “The pathway, once open, will give the opener ultimate power—over demons, humans, whoever. Very enticing, but very dangerous. Most demons are too smart—or too frightened—to dabble in that kind of stuff, but to some the draw is just too great. That kind of power is … alluring.”

 

“Black arts,” Nina said with a shudder.

 

“No. Whatever is a shade darker than black—that’s what he’s working to open with the sacrifices. This kind of magic makes the black arts look downright PG. This kind of stuff will suck out your soul or what’s left of it. If you have any humanity—and some demons still do—it drains that out, too,” Lorraine informed us.

 

“But,” I said, licking my dry lips, “we haven’t found any demons hurt. Or”—I winced—“skinned.”

 

Lorraine smiled. “Actually, if Mr. Sampson is working the spell, he could use a bit of his own pelt. He is, after all, a demon, too.”

 

My mouth dropped open, a whoosh of air escaping. Nina rushed to my side, closing the gap between Lorraine and me. “But Mr. Sampson is not going to do that.” Nina’s eyes were hard and she swung her head toward Lorraine. “Is he, Lorraine?”

 

Lorraine shrugged. “I was just making an observation.”

 

I hugged my elbows. “No, I just can’t imagine Mr. Sampson doing something like this. And for more power?”

 

“Ultimate power,” Lorraine corrected. “Over anything.”

 

Nina raised her eyebrows. “He already lords over the entire Underworld.”